


A Hint of Grace

by NephilimEQ



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Drabble, M/M, just a little bit of what was in my head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:42:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5799262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NephilimEQ/pseuds/NephilimEQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the most recent Destiel scene from 11.10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hint of Grace

** A Hint of Grace **

“This could be a good thing,” Cas says to me, and I stare at him as his  _left_  hand comes up, instead of his right, and presses into my shoulder. And that’s when I know.

It isn’t Cas.

Dammit.

Cas has always reached out with his right hand and touched his fingers to the mark he left on me, every single time the connection lighting up with a faint electric spark that lingers just under my skin, like a silent affirmation that a part of him is always with me…and that’s how I know.

I say nothing, but I am certain that something betrays me in my expression.

To _not_  feel that spark, to only feel an impersonal gesture of affection, shoots every bit of hope that I might have had of any small victory, right out of the sky.

I bet practically anything that Lucifer offered him a deal. It’s the only way that Cas would ever say yes, unless…fuck. I mentally curse again and shake my head, pissed that it’s never occurred to me until now.

The _only_  reason that Cas would ever say yes, is if he thought it would save all of us. Or me.  Mostly me.

I’m not blind as to how he feels towards me.

I feel the same way towards him.

But I _can’t_  risk it.  He is too fucking important to mess up. Which is, of course, the reason why it’s all so messed up. So, I brush it off, pretend that I don’t care, that he’s just a close friend and nothing more.

So what if I wake up in the middle of the night, gasping in terror, covered in sweat, with his name on my lips? So what if I catch myself staring just a little bit longer than I should? Or not correcting him anymore when he stands just a little bit too close.

So what if all I want to see at the end of the day is his face.

His eyes.

And feel his hand on my shoulder once more, grounding me and centering my totally fucked up life.

Who cares?

As I walk back to my room, I can hear a voice inside my head whisper, _I do._

…and I ignore it.


End file.
